The Shadow

It is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people become quite a mahogany brown, ay, and in the HOTTEST lands they are burnt to Negroes. But now it was only to the HOT lands that a learned man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about just as when at home, but he soon found out his mistake.

The sun certainly burns in hot lands! There, people turn a deep mahogany brown, and in the HOTTEST lands, they are burned black. But a learned man from a cold country had come only to the HOT lands. He thought he could run about just as he did at home, but he soon discovered his mistake.

He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doors—the window-shutters and doors were closed the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept, or there was no one at home.

He and all sensible people had to stay indoors. The shutters and doors stayed closed all day. It looked as if the whole house were asleep or no one was home.

The narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine must fall there from morning till evening—it was really not to be borne.

The narrow street was lined with tall houses and built so that sunshine fell on it from morning till evening. It was really unbearable.

The learned man from the cold lands—he was a young man, and seemed to be a clever man—sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became quite meagre—even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an effect on it. It was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they began to freshen up again.

The learned man from the cold lands was young and seemed clever. He sat as if in a blazing oven. The heat made him very thin. Even his shadow shrank, because the sun affected it too. Only toward evening, after the sun had set, did they begin to feel refreshed again.

In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on all the balconies in the street—for one must have air, even if one be accustomed to be mahogany!* It was lively both up and down the street. Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the street—chairs and tables were brought forth—and candles burnt—yes, above a thousand lights were burning—and the one talked and the other sung; and people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along with a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on. The street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils and detonating balls—and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers—for there were funerals with psalm and hymn—and then the din of carriages driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down in the street. Only in that single house, which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one lived there, for there stood flowers in the balcony—they grew so well in the sun's heat! and that they could not do unless they were watered—and some one must water them—there must be somebody there. The door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at least in the front room; further in there was heard the sound of music. The learned foreigner thought it quite marvellous, but now—it might be that he only imagined it—for he found everything marvellous out there, in the warm lands, if there had only been no sun. The stranger's landlord said that he didn't know who had taken the house opposite, one saw no person about, and as to the music, it appeared to him to be extremely tiresome. “It is as if some one sat there, and practised a piece that he could not master—always the same piece. 'I shall master it!' says he; but yet he cannot master it, however long he plays.”

In warm countries, every window has a balcony. People came out onto every balcony in the street, for everyone needs air, even if they are used to being mahogany!* The street was lively in both directions. Tailors, shoemakers, and everyone else came out into the street. Chairs and tables were brought out, and candles burned. Yes, more than a thousand lights were burning. One person talked, another sang. People walked, church bells rang, and donkeys went along with a dingle-dingle-dong, for they wore bells too. Street boys screamed, hooted, shouted, and fired off devils and detonating balls. Corpse bearers and hood wearers came along, for there were funerals with psalms and hymns. Then came the noise of carriages driving and guests arriving. Yes, the street was lively enough. Only the house opposite the one where the learned foreigner lived was completely quiet. Yet someone lived there, for flowers stood on the balcony. They grew so well in the heat of the sun! They could not do that unless they were watered, and someone had to water them. So there had to be somebody there. The door of the house opposite also opened late in the evening. But it was dark inside, at least in the front room. Music could be heard from farther inside. The learned foreigner thought the music quite marvelous. But perhaps he only imagined it was marvelous. He found everything marvelous out there in the warm countries, if only there had been no sun. The foreigner's landlord said he did not know who had rented the house opposite. No one was ever seen there. As for the music, he found it extremely tiresome. “It's as if someone were sitting there practicing a piece he can't master, always the same piece. 'I'll master it!' he says. But he still can't master it, however long he plays.”

* The word mahogany can be understood, in Danish, as having two meanings. In general, it means the reddish-brown wood itself; but in jest, it signifies “excessively fine,” which arose from an anecdote of Nyboder, in Copenhagen, (the seamen's quarter.) A sailor's wife, who was always proud and fine, in her way, came to her neighbor, and complained that she had got a splinter in her finger. “What of?” asked the neighbor's wife. “It is a mahogany splinter,” said the other. “Mahogany! It cannot be less with you!” exclaimed the woman—and thence the proverb, “It is so mahogany!”—(that is, so excessively fine)—is derived.

* In Danish, the word mahogany can have two meanings. Usually, it means the reddish-brown wood itself. But as a joke, it also means “excessively fine.” This meaning came from a story about Nyboder in Copenhagen, the sailors' quarter. A sailor's wife, who was always proud and dressed finely in her own way, visited her neighbor. She complained that she had a splinter in her finger. “What kind?” asked the neighbor's wife. “It is a mahogany splinter,” said the sailor's wife. “Mahogany! Nothing less would do for you!” exclaimed the neighbor. From this came the saying, “It is so mahogany!” (that is, so excessively fine).

One night the stranger awoke—he slept with the doors of the balcony open—the curtain before it was raised by the wind, and he thought that a strange lustre came from the opposite neighbor's house; all the flowers shone like flames, in the most beautiful colors, and in the midst of the flowers stood a slender, graceful maiden—it was as if she also shone; the light really hurt his eyes. He now opened them quite wide—yes, he was quite awake; with one spring he was on the floor; he crept gently behind the curtain, but the maiden was gone; the flowers shone no longer, but there they stood, fresh and blooming as ever; the door was ajar, and, far within, the music sounded so soft and delightful, one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it. Yet it was like a piece of enchantment. And who lived there? Where was the actual entrance? The whole of the ground-floor was a row of shops, and there people could not always be running through.

One night the stranger woke up. He slept with the balcony doors open, and the wind lifted the curtain in front of them. He thought he saw a strange light coming from the house across the way. All the flowers shone like flames in the most beautiful colors. Among them stood a slender, graceful young woman. She seemed to shine too, and the light actually hurt his eyes. He opened them wide. Yes, he was fully awake. He sprang out of bed and crept quietly behind the curtain, but the young woman was gone. The flowers no longer shone, but they stood there, fresh and blooming as ever. The door was partly open, and from deep inside came music so soft and lovely that one could melt away in sweet thoughts. Yet it was like a spell. Who lived there? Where was the actual entrance? The whole ground floor was a row of shops, and people could not keep running through them.

One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. The light burnt in the room behind him; and thus it was quite natural that his shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor's wall. Yes! there it sat, directly opposite, between the flowers on the balcony; and when the stranger moved, the shadow also moved: for that it always does.

One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. A light was burning in the room behind him, so naturally his shadow fell on the wall of his neighbor's building across the way. Yes! There it sat, directly opposite him, among the flowers on the balcony. When the stranger moved, the shadow moved too, as it always does.

“I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there,” said the learned man. “See, how nicely it sits between the flowers. The door stands half-open: now the shadow should be cunning, and go into the room, look about, and then come and tell me what it had seen. Come, now! Be useful, and do me a service,” said he, in jest. “Have the kindness to step in. Now! Art thou going?” and then he nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded again. “Well then, go! But don't stay away.”

“I think my shadow is the only living thing one can see over there,” said the learned man. “Look how nicely it sits among the flowers. The door is half-open. Now the shadow should be clever and go into the room, look around, and come back and tell me what it saw. Come on! Be useful and do me a favor,” he said jokingly. “Please step inside. Well! Are you going?” Then he nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded back. “Well then, go! But don't stay away.”

The stranger rose, and his shadow on the opposite neighbor's balcony rose also; the stranger turned round and the shadow also turned round. Yes! if anyone had paid particular attention to it, they would have seen, quite distinctly, that the shadow went in through the half-open balcony-door of their opposite neighbor, just as the stranger went into his own room, and let the long curtain fall down after him.

The stranger stood up, and his shadow stood up too, on the balcony across the way. The stranger turned around, and the shadow turned around too. Yes! If anyone had paid close attention, they would have seen the shadow go through the neighbor's half-open balcony door. At that same moment, the stranger went into his own room and let the long curtain fall behind him.

Next morning, the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the newspapers.

The next morning, the scholar went out for coffee and to read the newspapers.

“What is that?” said he, as he came out into the sunshine. “I have no shadow! So then, it has actually gone last night, and not come again. It is really tiresome!”

“What’s this?” he said as he stepped into the sunshine. “I have no shadow! So it really did leave last night and hasn’t come back. How annoying!”

This annoyed him: not so much because the shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story about a man without a shadow.* It was known to everybody at home, in the cold lands; and if the learned man now came there and told his story, they would say that he was imitating it, and that he had no need to do. He would, therefore, not talk about it at all; and that was wisely thought.

This annoyed him, though not so much because his shadow was gone. He was more annoyed because he knew a story about a man without a shadow.* Everyone back home in the cold lands knew the story. If the learned man went home and told his own story, they would say he was copying it. He had no need for that. So he decided not to talk about it at all, which was a wise decision.

*Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man.

*Peter Schlemihl, the man without a shadow.

In the evening he went out again on the balcony. He had placed the light directly behind him, for he knew that the shadow would always have its master for a screen, but he could not entice it. He made himself little; he made himself great: but no shadow came again. He said, “Hem! hem!” but it was of no use.

That evening, he went out onto the balcony again. He had placed the light directly behind him, knowing that a shadow always uses its master as a screen. But he could not lure his shadow back. He made himself small. He made himself big. But no shadow appeared. He said, “Hem! hem!” but it was no use.

It was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and after the lapse of eight days he observed, to his great joy, that a new shadow came in the sunshine. In the course of three weeks he had a very fair shadow, which, when he set out for his home in the northern lands, grew more and more in the journey, so that at last it was so long and so large, that it was more than sufficient.

It was frustrating, but everything grows so quickly in warm lands. After eight days, he was delighted to see a new shadow appear in the sunshine. Within three weeks, he had a fairly good shadow. When he set out for his home in the northern lands, the shadow grew larger and larger along the way. At last, it was so long and large that it was more than enough.

The learned man then came home, and he wrote books about what was true in the world, and about what was good and what was beautiful; and there passed days and years—yes! many years passed away.

The learned man came home and wrote books about what was true, good, and beautiful in the world. Days and years passed. Yes, many years passed.

One evening, as he was sitting in his room, there was a gentle knocking at the door.

One evening, he was sitting in his room when someone knocked gently at the door.

“Come in!” said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door, and there stood before him such an extremely lean man, that he felt quite strange. As to the rest, the man was very finely dressed—he must be a gentleman.

“Come in!” he said. But no one came in, so he opened the door. An extremely thin man stood before him, and he felt quite strange. The man was very finely dressed. He must be a gentleman.

“Whom have I the honor of speaking?” asked the learned man.

“Who am I speaking to?” asked the learned man.

“Yes! I thought as much,” said the fine man. “I thought you would not know me. I have got so much body. I have even got flesh and clothes. You certainly never thought of seeing me so well off. Do you not know your old shadow? You certainly thought I should never more return. Things have gone on well with me since I was last with you. I have, in all respects, become very well off. Shall I purchase my freedom from service? If so, I can do it”; and then he rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals that hung to his watch, and he stuck his hand in the thick gold chain he wore around his neck—nay! how all his fingers glittered with diamond rings; and then all were pure gems.

“Yes! That’s what I thought,” said the fine man. “I thought you wouldn’t recognize me. I’ve grown so substantial. I even have flesh and clothes. You certainly never expected to see me so well off. Don’t you recognize your old shadow? You certainly thought I would never return. Things have gone well for me since I last saw you. In every way, I’ve become very well off. Shall I buy my freedom from service? If so, I can afford it.” He rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals hanging from his watch. Then he put his hand inside the thick gold chain around his neck. And how all his fingers glittered with diamond rings! The diamonds were all genuine.

“Nay; I cannot recover from my surprise!” said the learned man. “What is the meaning of all this?”

“No, I still can’t get over my surprise!” said the learned man. “What does all this mean?”

“Something common, is it not,” said the shadow. “But you yourself do not belong to the common order; and I, as you know well, have from a child followed in your footsteps. As soon as you found I was capable to go out alone in the world, I went my own way. I am in the most brilliant circumstances, but there came a sort of desire over me to see you once more before you die; you will die, I suppose? I also wished to see this land again—for you know we always love our native land. I know you have got another shadow again; have I anything to pay to it or you? If so, you will oblige me by saying what it is.”

“Something ordinary, isn’t it?” said the shadow. “But you yourself are not an ordinary person. And as you know well, I have followed in your footsteps since childhood. As soon as you found I was able to go out into the world alone, I went my own way. I am doing splendidly, but I felt a desire to see you once more before you die. You will die, I suppose? I also wanted to see this country again, because you know we always love our native land. I know you have another shadow now. Do I owe anything to the shadow or to you? If so, please tell me what it is.”

“Nay, is it really thou?” said the learned man. “It is most remarkable: I never imagined that one's old shadow could come again as a man.”

“Is it really you?” said the learned man. “That is remarkable. I never imagined that one's old shadow could come back as a man.”

“Tell me what I have to pay,” said the shadow; “for I don't like to be in any sort of debt.”

“Tell me what I owe you,” said the shadow, “because I don't like to be in debt at all.”

“How canst thou talk so?” said the learned man. “What debt is there to talk about? Make thyself as free as anyone else. I am extremely glad to hear of thy good fortune: sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how it has gone with thee, and what thou hast seen at our opposite neighbor's there—in the warm lands.”

“How can you say that?” said the learned man. “What debt are you talking about? Make yourself as comfortable as anyone else. I am extremely glad to hear of your good fortune. Sit down, old friend, and tell me a little about how things have gone for you. And tell me what you saw at our neighbor’s across the way, in the warm lands.”

“Yes, I will tell you all about it,” said the shadow, and sat down: “but then you must also promise me, that, wherever you may meet me, you will never say to anyone here in the town that I have been your shadow. I intend to get betrothed, for I can provide for more than one family.”

“Yes, I will tell you all about it,” said the shadow, sitting down. “But you must promise me something too. Wherever you meet me, you must never tell anyone here in town that I was your shadow. I intend to get engaged, because I can provide for more than one family.”

“Be quite at thy ease about that,” said the learned man; “I shall not say to anyone who thou actually art: here is my hand—I promise it, and a man's bond is his word.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said the learned man. “I won’t tell anyone who you really are. Here is my hand. I promise, and a man’s word is his bond.”

“A word is a shadow,” said the shadow, “and as such it must speak.”

“A word is a shadow,” said the shadow, “so it must speak.”

It was really quite astonishing how much of a man it was. It was dressed entirely in black, and of the very finest cloth; it had patent leather boots, and a hat that could be folded together, so that it was bare crown and brim; not to speak of what we already know it had—seals, gold neck-chain, and diamond rings; yes, the shadow was well-dressed, and it was just that which made it quite a man.

It was truly astonishing how much like a man it was. It was dressed entirely in black, in the finest cloth. It wore patent leather boots and a collapsible hat that folded flat, leaving only the crown and brim. And, as we already know, it had seals, a gold neck chain, and diamond rings. Yes, the shadow was well dressed, and that was exactly what made it a man.

“Now I shall tell you my adventures,” said the shadow; and then he sat, with the polished boots, as heavily as he could, on the arm of the learned man's new shadow, which lay like a poodle-dog at his feet. Now this was perhaps from arrogance; and the shadow on the ground kept itself so still and quiet, that it might hear all that passed: it wished to know how it could get free, and work its way up, so as to become its own master.

“Now I’ll tell you about my adventures,” said the shadow. Wearing his polished boots, he sat as heavily as he could on the arm of the learned man’s new shadow. The new shadow lay at the learned man’s feet like a poodle. Perhaps the shadow sat on its arm out of arrogance. The shadow on the ground stayed very still and quiet so it could hear everything that was said. It wanted to learn how to get free and work its way up to become its own master.

“Do you know who lived in our opposite neighbor's house?” said the shadow. “It was the most charming of all beings, it was Poesy! I was there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived three thousand years, and read all that was composed and written; that is what I say, and it is right. I have seen everything and I know everything!”

“Do you know who lived in the house across from ours?” said the shadow. “It was Poesy, the most charming of all beings! I was there for three weeks. That had the same effect as living for three thousand years and reading everything ever composed and written. That is what I say, and I am right. I have seen everything and I know everything!”

“Poesy!” cried the learned man. “Yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse in large cities! Poesy! Yes, I have seen her—a single short moment, but sleep came into my eyes! She stood on the balcony and shone as the Aurora Borealis shines. Go on, go on—thou wert on the balcony, and went through the doorway, and then—”

“Poetry!” cried the learned man. “Yes, yes, she often lives alone in large cities! Poetry! Yes, I have seen her for one brief moment, but then I fell asleep! She stood on the balcony and shone like the Northern Lights. Go on, go on. You were on the balcony and went through the doorway, and then...”

“Then I was in the antechamber,” said the shadow. “You always sat and looked over to the antechamber. There was no light; there was a sort of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up. I should have been completely killed if I had gone over to the maiden; but I was circumspect, I took time to think, and that one must always do.”

“Then I was in the antechamber,” said the shadow. “You always sat looking over at the antechamber. There was no light there, only a kind of twilight. But one door stood open directly opposite the other, with a long row of rooms and halls between them. There was light there. I would have been killed outright if I had gone over to the maiden. But I was careful and took time to think, as one must always do.”

“And what didst thou then see?” asked the learned man.

“And what did you see then?” asked the learned man.

“I saw everything, and I shall tell all to you: but—it is no pride on my part—as a free man, and with the knowledge I have, not to speak of my position in life, my excellent circumstances—I certainly wish that you would say YOU* to me!”

“I saw everything, and I will tell you all of it. But I hope you will address me as YOU*. I don't say this out of pride. I am a free man and have knowledge, not to mention my position in life and my excellent circumstances.”

* It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the second person singular, “Du,” (thou) when speaking to each other. When a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other and exclaiming, “thy health,” at the same time striking their glasses together. This is called drinking “Duus”: they are then, “Duus Brodre,” (thou brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun “thou,” to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than “De,” (you). Father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one another—without regard to age or rank. Master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior to the inferior. But servants and inferiors do not use the same term to their masters, or superiors—nor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or anyone with whom they are but slightly acquainted—they then say as in English—you.

* In Denmark, close acquaintances use the singular form “Du” (thou) when speaking to each other. When men become friends, they generally affirm their friendship when an opportunity arises, either in public or private. They drink to each other, exclaim “thy health,” and clink their glasses together. This is called drinking “Duus”. They are then “Duus Brodre” (thou brothers) and always address each other as “thou” afterward. It is considered more familiar than “De” (you). Father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one another, regardless of age or rank. Masters and mistresses say thou to their servants, and superiors say it to their inferiors. But servants and inferiors do not use the same term for their masters or superiors. Nor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger or someone they barely know. In those cases, they say you, as in English.

“I beg your pardon,” said the learned man; “it is an old habit with me. YOU are perfectly right, and I shall remember it; but now you must tell me all YOU saw!”

“I’m sorry,” said the learned man. “It’s an old habit of mine. YOU are absolutely right, and I’ll remember that. But now you must tell me everything YOU saw!”

“Everything!” said the shadow. “For I saw everything, and I know everything!”

“Everything!” said the shadow. “Because I saw everything, and I know everything!”

“How did it look in the furthest saloon?” asked the learned man. “Was it there as in the fresh woods? Was it there as in a holy church? Were the saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?”

“What did the farthest room look like?” asked the learned man. “Was it like being in a fresh forest? Was it like being in a holy church? Were the rooms like the starry sky we see from high mountains?”

“Everything was there!” said the shadow. “I did not go quite in, I remained in the foremost room, in the twilight, but I stood there quite well; I saw everything, and I know everything! I have been in the antechamber at the court of Poesy.”

“Everything was there!” said the shadow. “I didn’t go all the way in. I stayed in the first room, in the dim light, but I had a good view from there. I saw everything, and I know everything! I have been in the entrance hall at the court of Poesy.”

“But WHAT DID you see? Did all the gods of the olden times pass through the large saloons? Did the old heroes combat there? Did sweet children play there, and relate their dreams?”

“But WHAT DID you see? Did all the gods of ancient times pass through the great halls? Did the old heroes fight there? Did sweet children play there and tell their dreams?”

“I tell you I was there, and you can conceive that I saw everything there was to be seen. Had you come over there, you would not have been a man; but I became so! And besides, I learned to know my inward nature, my innate qualities, the relationship I had with Poesy. At the time I was with you, I thought not of that, but always—you know it well—when the sun rose, and when the sun went down, I became so strangely great; in the moonlight I was very near being more distinct than yourself; at that time I did not understand my nature; it was revealed to me in the antechamber! I became a man! I came out matured; but you were no longer in the warm lands; as a man I was ashamed to go as I did. I was in want of boots, of clothes, of the whole human varnish that makes a man perceptible. I took my way—I tell it to you, but you will not put it in any book—I took my way to the cake woman—I hid myself behind her; the woman didn't think how much she concealed. I went out first in the evening; I ran about the streets in the moonlight; I made myself long up the walls—it tickles the back so delightfully! I ran up, and ran down, peeped into the highest windows, into the saloons, and on the roofs, I peeped in where no one could peep, and I saw what no one else saw, what no one else should see! This is, in fact, a base world! I would not be a man if it were not now once accepted and regarded as something to be so! I saw the most unimaginable things with the women, with the men, with parents, and with the sweet, matchless children; I saw,” said the shadow, “what no human being must know, but what they would all so willingly know—what is bad in their neighbor. Had I written a newspaper, it would have been read! But I wrote direct to the persons themselves, and there was consternation in all the towns where I came. They were so afraid of me, and yet they were so excessively fond of me. The professors made a professor of me; the tailors gave me new clothes—I am well furnished; the master of the mint struck new coin for me, and the women said I was so handsome! And so I became the man I am. And I now bid you farewell. Here is my card—I live on the sunny side of the street, and am always at home in rainy weather!” And so away went the shadow. “That was most extraordinary!” said the learned man. Years and days passed away, then the shadow came again. “How goes it?” said the shadow.

“I tell you, I was there, and you can imagine that I saw everything there was to see. If you had gone there, you would not have become a man, but I did! Besides, I came to understand my inner nature, my inborn qualities, and my relationship with Poetry. When I was with you, I never thought about any of that. But whenever the sun rose or set, I grew strangely large, as you well know. In the moonlight, I was almost more distinct than you were. Back then, I did not understand my nature. It was revealed to me in the antechamber! I became a man! I came out fully grown, but you were no longer in the warm lands. “As a man, I was ashamed to go about as I was. I needed boots, clothes, all the outward trappings that make a man visible. So I went to the cake woman and hid behind her. I am telling you this, but you must not put it in any book. The woman had no idea how much she was hiding. At first, I went out only in the evening. I ran through the streets in the moonlight and stretched myself up the walls. It tickles the back so delightfully! I ran up and down and peered into the highest windows, into drawing rooms, and onto rooftops. I peered in where no one else could, and I saw what no one else saw, what no one else should see! “This really is a wicked world! I would not be a man if being one were not already accepted and considered an achievement! I saw the most unimaginable things involving women, men, parents, and sweet, matchless children. I saw,” said the shadow, “what no human being must know, but what everyone would so gladly know, the bad things about their neighbor. If I had written a newspaper, people would have read it! But I wrote directly to the people themselves, and there was alarm in every town I visited. They were so afraid of me, and yet they were extremely fond of me. The professors made me a professor. The tailors gave me new clothes, so I am well supplied. The master of the mint made new coins for me, and the women said I was so handsome! That is how I became the man I am. “And now I bid you farewell. Here is my card. I live on the sunny side of the street, and I am always at home in rainy weather!” And the shadow went away. “That was most extraordinary!” said the learned man. Years and days passed, and then the shadow came again. “How is it going?” said the shadow.

“Alas!” said the learned man. “I write about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, but no one cares to hear such things; I am quite desperate, for I take it so much to heart!”

“Oh no!” said the learned man. “I write about truth, goodness, and beauty, but no one cares to hear about them. I take this so much to heart that I’m desperate!”

“But I don't!” said the shadow. “I become fat, and it is that one wants to become! You do not understand the world. You will become ill by it. You must travel! I shall make a tour this summer; will you go with me? I should like to have a travelling companion! Will you go with me, as shadow? It will be a great pleasure for me to have you with me; I shall pay the travelling expenses!”

“But I don't!” said the shadow. “I'm getting fat, and that's what everyone wants! You don't understand the world. It will make you ill. You must travel! I'm going on a tour this summer. Will you come with me? I'd like a traveling companion! Will you come as my shadow? It would be a great pleasure to have you with me. I'll pay your travel expenses!”

“Nay, this is too much!” said the learned man.

“No, this is too much!” said the learned man.

“It is just as one takes it!” said the shadow. “It will do you much good to travel! Will you be my shadow? You shall have everything free on the journey!”

“It all depends on how you look at it!” said the shadow. “Travel will do you a lot of good! Will you be my shadow? Everything on the journey will be free for you!”

“Nay, that is too bad!” said the learned man.

“No, that’s too bad!” said the scholar.

“But it is just so with the world!” said the shadow, “and so it will be!” and away it went again.

“But that is just how the world is!” said the shadow. “And that is how it will be!” Then the shadow went away again.

The learned man was not at all in the most enviable state; grief and torment followed him, and what he said about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, was, to most persons, like roses for a cow! He was quite ill at last.

The learned man was in a miserable state. Grief and torment followed him. To most people, his words about truth, goodness, and beauty were like roses to a cow! At last, he became very ill.

“You really look like a shadow!” said his friends to him; and the learned man trembled, for he thought of it.

“You really look like a shadow!” his friends told him. The learned man trembled because it reminded him of it.

“You must go to a watering-place!” said the shadow, who came and visited him. “There is nothing else for it! I will take you with me for old acquaintance' sake; I will pay the travelling expenses, and you write the descriptions—and if they are a little amusing for me on the way! I will go to a watering-place—my beard does not grow out as it ought—that is also a sickness—and one must have a beard! Now you be wise and accept the offer; we shall travel as comrades!”

“You must go to a spa!” said the shadow, who came to visit him. “There is nothing else to do! For old times’ sake, I will take you with me. I will pay the travel expenses, and you can write the descriptions, if they will amuse me a little on the way! I will go to a spa. My beard isn’t growing as it should. That is an illness too, and a man must have a beard! Now be wise and accept my offer. We shall travel as companions!”

And so they travelled; the shadow was master, and the master was the shadow; they drove with each other, they rode and walked together, side by side, before and behind, just as the sun was; the shadow always took care to keep itself in the master's place. Now the learned man didn't think much about that; he was a very kind-hearted man, and particularly mild and friendly, and so he said one day to the shadow: “As we have now become companions, and in this way have grown up together from childhood, shall we not drink 'thou' together, it is more familiar?”

And so they traveled. The shadow was the master, and the master was the shadow. They drove, rode, and walked together, sometimes side by side, sometimes one behind the other, depending on the sun. The shadow always made sure to keep the master's place. The learned man did not think much of it. He was very kindhearted, especially gentle and friendly. So one day he said to the shadow, “Now that we are companions and have, in this way, grown up together since childhood, shall we drink to calling each other 'thou'? It is more familiar.”

“You are right,” said the shadow, who was now the proper master. “It is said in a very straight-forward and well-meant manner. You, as a learned man, certainly know how strange nature is. Some persons cannot bear to touch grey paper, or they become ill; others shiver in every limb if one rub a pane of glass with a nail: I have just such a feeling on hearing you say thou to me; I feel myself as if pressed to the earth in my first situation with you. You see that it is a feeling; that it is not pride: I cannot allow you to say THOU to me, but I will willingly say THOU to you, so it is half done!”

“You are right,” said the shadow, who was now the real master. “You said that very plainly and with good intentions. As a learned man, you surely know how strange nature can be. Some people cannot bear to touch gray paper. If they do, they become ill. Others shiver all over if someone rubs a fingernail against a windowpane. I feel just the same way when I hear you call me thou. I feel as if I were pressed to the ground again, as I was when I first served you. You see, it is a feeling, not pride. I cannot allow you to call me thou, but I will gladly call you thou. So that settles half of it!”

So the shadow said THOU to its former master.

So the shadow called its former master YOU.

“This is rather too bad,” thought he, “that I must say YOU and he say THOU,” but he was now obliged to put up with it.

“It’s rather unfair that I have to say YOU to him while he says THOU to me,” he thought. But now he had to put up with it.

So they came to a watering-place where there were many strangers, and amongst them was a princess, who was troubled with seeing too well; and that was so alarming!

So they came to a spa where many strangers had gathered. Among them was a princess who was troubled by seeing too well. That was so alarming!

She directly observed that the stranger who had just come was quite a different sort of person to all the others; “He has come here in order to get his beard to grow, they say, but I see the real cause, he cannot cast a shadow.”

She immediately noticed that the stranger who had just arrived was quite different from all the others. “They say he came here to make his beard grow, but I see the real reason. He cannot cast a shadow.”

She had become inquisitive; and so she entered into conversation directly with the strange gentleman, on their promenades. As the daughter of a king, she needed not to stand upon trifles, so she said, “Your complaint is, that you cannot cast a shadow?”

She had grown curious, so she spoke directly to the strange gentleman during their walks. As a king’s daughter, she did not need to worry about such formalities. So she said, “Is your complaint that you cannot cast a shadow?”

“Your Royal Highness must be improving considerably,” said the shadow, “I know your complaint is, that you see too clearly, but it has decreased, you are cured. I just happen to have a very unusual shadow! Do you not see that person who always goes with me? Other persons have a common shadow, but I do not like what is common to all. We give our servants finer cloth for their livery than we ourselves use, and so I had my shadow trimmed up into a man: yes, you see I have even given him a shadow. It is somewhat expensive, but I like to have something for myself!”

“Your Royal Highness must be getting much better,” said the shadow. “I know your complaint is that you see too clearly. But that has lessened. You are cured. I just happen to have a very unusual shadow! Do you see that person who always goes with me? Other people have ordinary shadows, but I do not like what everyone else has. We dress our servants in finer cloth than we wear ourselves. So I had my shadow dressed up as a man. Yes, you can see that I have even given him a shadow. It is rather expensive, but I like to have something of my own!”

“What!” thought the princess. “Should I really be cured! These baths are the first in the world! In our time water has wonderful powers. But I shall not leave the place, for it now begins to be amusing here. I am extremely fond of that stranger: would that his beard should not grow, for in that case he will leave us!”

“What!” thought the princess. “Could I really be cured? These baths are the best in the world! Nowadays, water has wonderful powers. But I won’t leave, because things are beginning to get amusing here. I’m very fond of that stranger. I wish his beard wouldn’t grow, because if it does, he’ll leave us!”

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large ball-room. She was light, but he was still lighter; she had never had such a partner in the dance. She told him from what land she came, and he knew that land; he had been there, but then she was not at home; he had peeped in at the window, above and below—he had seen both the one and the other, and so he could answer the princess, and make insinuations, so that she was quite astonished; he must be the wisest man in the whole world! She felt such respect for what he knew! So that when they again danced together she fell in love with him; and that the shadow could remark, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes. So they danced once more together; and she was about to declare herself, but she was discreet; she thought of her country and kingdom, and of the many persons she would have to reign over.

That evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the grand ballroom. She was light on her feet, but he was even lighter. She had never had such a dance partner. She told him what country she came from, and he knew it. He had been there when she was away from home. He had peered through the windows, upstairs and downstairs, and had seen all sorts of things. So he could answer the princess and make hints that astonished her. He must be the wisest man in the whole world! She had such respect for his knowledge that she fell in love with him when they danced again. The shadow could see it, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes. They danced together once more, and she was about to declare her love. But she was discreet. She thought of her country and kingdom and the many people she would have to rule.

“He is a wise man,” said she to herself—“It is well; and he dances delightfully—that is also good; but has he solid knowledge? That is just as important! He must be examined.”

“He is a wise man,” she said to herself. “That is good. And he dances beautifully. That is good too. But does he have solid knowledge? That is just as important! He must be tested.”

So she began, by degrees, to question him about the most difficult things she could think of, and which she herself could not have answered; so that the shadow made a strange face.

Gradually, she began asking him the hardest questions she could think of, questions she couldn't answer herself. This made the shadow make a strange face.

“You cannot answer these questions?” said the princess.

“You can't answer these questions?” said the princess.

“They belong to my childhood's learning,” said the shadow. “I really believe my shadow, by the door there, can answer them!”

“I learned those things as a child,” said the shadow. “I really believe my shadow over there by the door can answer them!”

“Your shadow!” said the princess. “That would indeed be marvellous!”

“Your shadow!” said the princess. “That really would be wonderful!”

“I will not say for a certainty that he can,” said the shadow, “but I think so; he has now followed me for so many years, and listened to my conversation—I should think it possible. But your royal highness will permit me to observe, that he is so proud of passing himself off for a man, that when he is to be in a proper humor—and he must be so to answer well—he must be treated quite like a man.”

“I can’t say for certain that he can,” said the shadow, “but I think so. He has followed me for so many years now and listened to my conversations. I think it’s possible. But your royal highness, please allow me to point out that he is very proud of passing himself off as a man. He must be in the right mood to answer well. And for that, he must be treated just like a man.”

“Oh! I like that!” said the princess.

“Oh! I like that!” said the princess.

So she went to the learned man by the door, and she spoke to him about the sun and the moon, and about persons out of and in the world, and he answered with wisdom and prudence.

So she went to the learned man by the door. She spoke to him about the sun and the moon, and about people in and out of the world. He answered wisely and thoughtfully.

“What a man that must be who has so wise a shadow!” thought she. “It will be a real blessing to my people and kingdom if I choose him for my consort—I will do it!”

“What a remarkable man he must be to have such a wise shadow!” she thought. “If I choose him as my husband, it will be a real blessing to my people and kingdom. I will do it!”

They were soon agreed, both the princess and the shadow; but no one was to know about it before she arrived in her own kingdom.

The princess and the shadow soon agreed. But no one was to know about their agreement before she arrived in her own kingdom.

“No one—not even my shadow!” said the shadow, and he had his own thoughts about it!

“No one, not even my shadow!” said the shadow, and he had his own thoughts about it!

Now they were in the country where the princess reigned when she was at home.

Now they were in the country the princess ruled when she was home.

“Listen, my good friend,” said the shadow to the learned man. “I have now become as happy and mighty as anyone can be; I will, therefore, do something particular for thee! Thou shalt always live with me in the palace, drive with me in my royal carriage, and have ten thousand pounds a year; but then thou must submit to be called SHADOW by all and everyone; thou must not say that thou hast ever been a man; and once a year, when I sit on the balcony in the sunshine, thou must lie at my feet, as a shadow shall do! I must tell thee: I am going to marry the king's daughter, and the nuptials are to take place this evening!”

“Listen, my good friend,” said the shadow to the learned man. “I have become as happy and powerful as anyone can be, so I will do something special for you! You shall always live with me in the palace, ride with me in my royal carriage, and receive ten thousand pounds a year. But you must agree to be called SHADOW by everyone. You must not say that you were ever a man. And once a year, when I sit on the balcony in the sunshine, you must lie at my feet, as a shadow should! I must tell you, I am going to marry the king's daughter, and the wedding will take place this evening!”

“Nay, this is going too far!” said the learned man. “I will not have it; I will not do it! It is to deceive the whole country and the princess too! I will tell everything! That I am a man, and that thou art a shadow—thou art only dressed up!”

“No, this is going too far!” said the learned man. “I won’t allow it. I won’t do it! It would deceive the whole country and the princess too! I’ll tell everyone the truth! I’m a man, and you’re a shadow. You’re only dressed up!”

“There is no one who will believe it!” said the shadow. “Be reasonable, or I will call the guard!”

“No one will believe it!” said the shadow. “Be reasonable, or I’ll call the guard!”

“I will go directly to the princess!” said the learned man.

“I’ll go straight to the princess!” said the scholar.

“But I will go first!” said the shadow. “And thou wilt go to prison!” and that he was obliged to do—for the sentinels obeyed him whom they knew the king's daughter was to marry.

“But I will go first!” said the shadow. “And you will go to prison!” And he was forced to go to prison, because the guards obeyed the man they knew the king's daughter was going to marry.

“You tremble!” said the princess, as the shadow came into her chamber. “Has anything happened? You must not be unwell this evening, now that we are to have our nuptials celebrated.”

“You’re trembling!” said the princess as the shadow entered her room. “Has something happened? You must not be ill this evening, when we are to celebrate our wedding.”

“I have lived to see the most cruel thing that anyone can live to see!” said the shadow. “Only imagine—yes, it is true, such a poor shadow-skull cannot bear much—only think, my shadow has become mad; he thinks that he is a man, and that I—now only think—that I am his shadow!”

“I have lived to see the cruelest thing anyone can live to see!” said the shadow. “Just imagine! It is true that a poor shadow-skull cannot take much. But just think, my shadow has gone mad. He thinks he is a man, and that I, just think, am his shadow!”

“It is terrible!” said the princess; “but he is confined, is he not?”

“That’s terrible!” said the princess. “But he’s locked up, isn’t he?”

“That he is. I am afraid that he will never recover.”

“Yes, he is. I’m afraid he’ll never recover.”

“Poor shadow!” said the princess. “He is very unfortunate; it would be a real work of charity to deliver him from the little life he has, and, when I think properly over the matter, I am of opinion that it will be necessary to do away with him in all stillness!”

“Poor shadow!” said the princess. “He is very unfortunate. It would be a real act of charity to free him from the little life he has. And when I think it over carefully, I believe we will have to get rid of him quietly!”

“It is certainly hard,” said the shadow, “for he was a faithful servant!” and then he gave a sort of sigh.

“It is certainly hard,” said the shadow, “because he was a loyal servant!” Then he gave a sort of sigh.

“You are a noble character!” said the princess.

“You are a noble person!” said the princess.

The whole city was illuminated in the evening, and the cannons went off with a bum! bum! and the soldiers presented arms. That was a marriage! The princess and the shadow went out on the balcony to show themselves, and get another hurrah!

The whole city was lit up that evening. The cannons went boom! boom! and the soldiers presented arms. What a wedding! The princess and the shadow went out onto the balcony to show themselves and receive another cheer!

The learned man heard nothing of all this—for they had deprived him of life.

The learned man heard none of this, because they had killed him.